Dearest…a love letter

Dearest...Dearest…You don’t know it now, sweet girl, but in twenty years this dark place in your life will be no more than a shadowy memory.  If I told you of the immense joy that awaits you, the pain of the present would be too much to bear. But I can tell you that you do find yourself at last. You hit your stride. You finally realize that the person you tried so hard to be was never you, and you shed her like a snake sheds it’s worn out skin.

You’ll grieve, at first, for the lost years. But they weren’t lost, dear one. They are your story. The heat and pressure of them has refined you. It has burned away the superficial, the frivolous, and made you ready. The lessons that have seared themselves into your heart you will teach to others.  You’ll let go of everything that does not serve your highest good. In the end, you’ll regret nothing. You’ll be as light and free as air.

Your life will move to a place that supports who you are becoming. It will take you to the other side of the world. And you’ll be astounded that it feels so familiar, like coming home….


When my heart was breaking open and learning to love, I was overwhelmed with compassion for the person I had been. I wrote this letter to her. It was deeply comforting then, and it has become more and more true with the passing of time.

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Face-off with an Arachnid

I’ve evolved. That’s right, I’ve achieved a higher level of consciousness. It was bound to happen sooner or later with the yoga, meditation and what-not, or so I’ve been told. Here’s how I know…

It was raining hard when I awoke this morning. The view through my gauzy mosquito netting always puts me in a delicious frame of mind and I like to linger, listening to nature  come alive and feeling the gratitude of another day.
After a leisurely stretch I pushed the net aside and got up.  In a fog I opened the bathroom door and turned on the light. There was a spider the size of a baseball sitting between me and the toilet which just happened to be my destination. In the past my heart-rate would have escalated with an adrenalin surge. But today KILL was not my first response. I was calm, although I don’t like spiders, and I knew I had to get him to move before I could do my business. So I grabbed one of those long grass Bali brooms that serve a multitude of purposes and nudged him. He skittered under the toilet bowl brush cup. That was too close for comfort. I carefully removed the brush. No spidey. He must be hiding under the cup. Still unruffled I slowly lifted the edge with the tip of the broom. He darted out directly toward me. I think I squeeked, but with the broom between us I was able to herd him in the right direction, up the wall, over the top, and back outdoors from whence he came.
As he exited, I took note that he was the very same color as the blackish lava rock walls in the bathroom. In the future I will glance a little more closely at those walls when I turn on the light, and I will ALWAYS turn on the light! As I replaced the broom in its corner I congratulated myself. I had not freaked out. I had not fiercely and brutally murdered an unsuspecting life form. In fact, I believe I felt a commonality, a oneness, and just possibly a measure of campassion for the defenseless creature. Later I told my neighbor, Sudi, about the incident. “Not poisonous,” he said. “Spiders in Bali okay…no poison.” Somehow sharing my space with a giant, six-legged arachnid, poisonous or not, isn’t acceptable. On my evolution chart, cohabitating with large, frightening insects is not a requirement.

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